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Muff (Free verse) by Stephen Robins

My eyes start to water, And soon they begin to smart, You've entered the room, To the roar of a fanny fart. Like a couple of clapping seals, In taste, composition and aroma, Your worst case of front bum wind, Puts me in a coma. Your flaps have the suction, Of a welly full of tripe, Squelching like a gay man, Sucking off Michael Stipe. I swear I saw an ewok, Grinning between your legs, Belching loudly with a smell Like he'd been eating eggs.

Stephen Robins 21-Mar-06/8:25 AM
Quite frankly, no:

I have had the honour to be Ben Fogle's proximity on two occasions. The first was at a game of polo where he wore a splendid tweed ensemble finished off with a rakish pair of Wellington Boots. The gash was quite literrely swooning all over him as he lisped about the latest series of animal park.

The second occasion was on a beach in Devon where he defied common decency and bestrode the golden sands in nought but a pair of speedos. To say the g'wat were having wide ons all over the beach is to ignore the frantic rustling as they rubbed their pubic mounds.

He is an example to us all.

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